


deathlessness and our best poker faces

by synchresis



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21904621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchresis/pseuds/synchresis
Summary: 21st-Century Teenage Model/Actor/(Mortuary Cosmetologist)!AU.There are certain things only people who have lost love know. They know how it feels to mourn the loss of someone who’s still alive, to struggle figuring out what to do with all the love that will be left lingering. But as for Genesis and Sephiroth, neither of them can step into moonlight and hope to disappear, pretending that this was something they could walk away from. Passion comes in pairs, however as often does sorrow - it’s not even about refusing to make it beautiful anymore.
Relationships: Angeal Hewley/Genesis Rhapsodos, Genesis Rhapsodos/Sephiroth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	deathlessness and our best poker faces

Day 1  
**Genesis**

  
  


“Please, don’t mind me. Just looking around. Just wish someone was here,”

_That would sound romantic if you were alone at maybe a cafe. That would even be a good drama line….but what a strange thing for one to say at the Undertaker’s._

“Are you…wishing someone dead?”

Gen felt phony to ask without looking straight at his customer’s eyes - impolite because he hasn’t even introduced himself. Actually, he didn’t give a shit.

Long, long, long, long day - his clients never seem to understand that using the deceased’s favorite makeup won’t do anyone any favors - screw the “ _it was her favorite, I’m sure she’ll be happy_ ”s, but he can’t be rude and rant about how you don’t start with the same skin tones in death that you do when life is still in you.

He can’t be rude to someone who’s had to carry the weight of death.

“On the contrary,” the silver-haired man had a gaze that knew why people look happier in the darkness rather than daylight.

Very, very well.

“I wish they were just at least…still here.”

“Wishing won’t bring them back,” Gen tries to say as softly as possible, although it did have the potential to sound…just… unacceptably insensitive.

“Don’t worry,” the silver-haired man can’t be older than 21 but the palms of his hands say _you can’t sell dreams to me_. He had the eyes of a man that knew you have a lot more to be scared about when you’re around a living person than when around a dead one.

_Good one._

“Surprisingly, I found that oddly consoling.”

Genesis breathes a sigh of relief because he’s not asking whether the corpses scare him, another question he’s so sick of answering. He’d compliment the man on marvelous hair color choice; it brings out the emerald of his eyes.

“Pleased. On the contrary, I’m here because I just sent someone off,”  
Genesis doesn’t know what the stranger has done to earn his trust. Neither can he comprehend why the silver-haired man isn’t flapped scared, even when his eyes are gravid with something only death can inflict and he should be uncomfortable in a place like this.

  
He doesn’t want to entertain the feeling that they’re both at the right place at the right time even if they come from the opposite ends of it.

“Your work must be difficult, although you must have a reason for taking it up.”

“Hmm, well it’s not to make my dear friend pretty on such a sunny summer day,” it’s the rush you get when you breathe out fire, but not to burn the person in front of you.

  
Genesis can’t forget how the silver-haired man winces at his words.

“I’m sorry. What an awkward position,” it was voice that scatters thorns  
but remembers not to go barefoot.

“Thank you. And it’s all right; this is my last day at this temporary job.”

“Seph,” when Gen offers to shake his hand, Seph violently flinches and something more than pain darkens the rings of his eyes.

  
It was something like, _I don’t want to be burdened with new beginnings when there’s potential for tragedy_. After seeing and carrying death, there’s something even scarier - starting over again.

_I’m not so different._

“I sure do hope you’ll be in a brighter place.” Maybe they’ll both ignore the thorns -  
walk up the street lined with gold, no matter how bitter of a place they lead to. He’s noticed how Genesis’ eyes linger so long and so much on the corpses’ lips – but not on the actual ones –

  
Maybe this man called Seph is trying to decide whether Genesis will seal them with coins  
or pretend to breathe life into them. The harsh slope of Seph’s profile belongs to a person who begged for a miracle but instead lost everything.

“Genesis, and yes, I’ll be abroad in a week to pursue my acting career.”

Genesis could get used to the way Seph’s eyes shake - as if his brain and the world are in overdrive and anything can make him scream when he’s worried, even if they didn’t look right on a person so unfazed – although, more accurately, pretending he isn’t by corpses and making small talk with a mortuary cosmetologist (temporary, but doesn’t matter), even if this is obviously  
the last place he’d ever visit willingly.

  
_What an interesting fellow._  
_You won’t hold someone’s hand again because you’ve been left behind._

“You look like you want to kiss them,” Seph says, the candor not quite matching the softness of his voice. Agitation never really went with potential suggestiveness.

_Oh, so that’s why your eyes shake. Because you’re worried I’ll be repulsed by your honesty._

  
But Genesis knows it’s more than that - because with those jittery eyes, those shoulders tense as hell, and hardened jaw that might as well be frozen, Seph is trying to put something in between his body  
and the sky that’s crashing down on him.

There’s something scarier than a dead body, something more unnerving than having to color life into a corpse - it’s thinking about how the human brain can convince itself to take a life or to let one’s own life be taken. Gen finds himself hoping the other case didn’t apply to the stranger: how the human brain tries to cleanse itself of the memory of holding your loved one’s corpse in your own helpless arms.

“Ha, but who would kiss someone like me? They’re too afraid,” _honesty is a language I do appreciate_.  
“Apparently, I scare them away. I’m better than the Grim Reaper himself. Because I can _totally_ bring them to the Underworld, eh?”

_I promise, I don’t bite. But who’ll believe me? They’re all too afraid._

_But what they don’t know_ _is that I’m the one who’s scared the most._

“I wouldn’t be,” Seph says as simply as how hard his fists are shaking again. He isn’t daunted by the jaggedness of the words, even if they sound none-to-shy of violent ends and Genesis’ eyes shake with the violence of this unfolding delight.

They just stare at each other for a long time. Silently. No strings attached - until the phone rings and Seph leaves the shop.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
